


Smoking Gun

by absurdvampmuse



Category: La Reina del Sur (TV), Queen of the South
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 15:47:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12235923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absurdvampmuse/pseuds/absurdvampmuse
Summary: Teresa/James one piece. Set after season 2, episode 2./He was the embodiment of all the rules she hadn’t thought twice about breaking./Her fingers slid down the window like an afterthought. “Do I need to get dressed?” He thought it was a loaded question with implications he savored on his tongue. He gave her a quick once-over, eyes sticking to her skin in all the right places./





	Smoking Gun

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the rights to Queen of the South.I am merely borrowing the characters. All I own is my imagination and the laptop I wrote this on.
> 
> A/N: I'm a rookie when it comes to this fandom, although I have been shipping Teresa and James since the early episodes. Personally, I hope that we will get to see more of their interactions and relationship next season. Unfortunately, when I went scouring the web for fanfiction, I didn't come up with a lot. I want to contribute and do my part in rectifying that by adding this story to the fandom. This story is set right after episode 2 of season 2 when Teresa discovers that Guero is indeed alive. I hope you'll like it! Like I mentioned, this is my first try at this fandom, so it might not be as in character as I would like it to be. I would really appreciate your feedback? Also, if you know of any amazing Teresa/James stories or other places to find it, please let me know as well? Thank you!

**Smoking Gun**

_And I'll gladly wear the crown that you gave me whilst I go on a rampage, burning down your empire._

The first thing Teresa did after seeing Guero and confirming that he was alive and had indeed lied to her, was turn around and go in the opposite direction, needing to be as far away from him as she had been all this time, maybe even further. It was too much. She needed to be away from him, in a space not shared with anything or anyone but her thoughts, in a place where nothing could intrude or encroach. Because her mind was still just her own, something she had full control over, could let wander to all the possibilities she would not entertain in real life, secrets that were just hers. All of which she had at one point shared with Guero.

Two hearts and bodies, one soul and shared consciousness.

The lines had always been blurred between  _them_ , at times even completely faded through. Whereas now she had drawn them sharply, guarded them while  _he_  was sauntering closer to the lines. With those big soulful eyes of his, the color matching her own almost to a tee, looking, taunting and practically challenging her from beneath thick unruly locks.

He was the embodiment of all the rules she hadn't thought twice about breaking.

And this time it wasn't Guero doing the invading.

No, somehow, she had begun to trust James, look to him for comfort and strength. He was hard, razor sharp, keeping her at a safe but purposeful distance because he didn't want to hurt her. Or maybe he only thought that he would ultimately end up hurting her and he was really protecting himself from doing something he did rarely: open up.

And somehow her past life with Guero was comparable to the short periods of time she had spent with James. It was almost like flipping a coin, yet the two sides still differed enough for her to tell which side was facing upwards.

Both were dangerous and irresistible in their own right. One kept her safe by lying, little white lies at first that had now spiraled out of control so completely, while the other preferred to shoot first and ask questions later. Still, it was the latter she had run to, shutting herself into the bedroom she had claimed while he roamed the rest of the house. And she was at ease because James was in the house with her, feeling relaxed enough to dress down into the ensemble she had settled on for the night.

Her underwear and a navy zip-up hoodie that was oversized and covered her hands but left most of her legs bare. It left enough room for her to think. She stood in front of the large window that covered one side of the room, not even seeing her own reflection as she stared out into nothing. The thought of needing a haircut was fleeting as she tugged at some of the heavier curls, almost able to remember the feel of Guero doing the same, even though it weren't  _his hands_  she was picturing.

A single knock on the door broke through her muddled reverie and she raised her eyes so she could see the door in the window as it was pushed open like he had every right to do so. She had come to expect it, a show of dominance, even though it was nothing more than just that.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked, the words sliding soothingly down her throat like liquor and leaving behind a pleasant burn in the pit of her stomach.

Her eyes momentarily lit up with honesty. "Yes… but it's for the best," she kept her response cryptic, knowing how he found pleasure in the little mysteries that encompassed her. Her fingers slid down the window like an afterthought as she turned to face James. "Do I need to get dressed?"

He thought it was a loaded question with implications he savored on his tongue but ultimately decided to swallow. Even as he gave her a quick once-over, eyes sticking to her skin in all the right places. He shook his head as he answered her, "I made food. So if you'—"

"You cooked?"

The nod he gave her was curt and he lowered his head so he hid his eyes from her discerning ones, always looking for something as if it was the answer to a test he needed to pass. "Care to join me? You haven't eaten in a while, "he gently reminded her when she remained standing by the window, docile and under-dressed, and unintendedly vulnerable while explicitly beautiful.

Enticing in a way that was accidental and could get her into trouble with the wrong kind of people. The bad kind that preyed on innocence. People like him. Or maybe it was the side that he preferred to show to her.

Teresa bit her lip as she pondered James' observation and concluded that he was right. She nodded, her demeanor timid the way it sometimes was when she withdrew from the world, from him.

James pushed the door open further, holding it there so she could pass through. Her arm brushed his chest and he felt the delicate sensation of her bare leg against his jean-clad thigh. He caught a whiff of coconut, the supermarket shampoo he had picked up for her. He was hyper-aware of her, even noticing the faint sway of her hips beneath the cotton of the hoodie as she rounded the corner.

He leaned his head back against the door, eyes closed for a moment before he followed her out.

"It smells good. Really good," she paid him the compliment freely.

"Fried rice, vegetables and chicken skewers," he clarified. "I hope it's to your liking."

Teresa's brow crinkled at his polite phrasing, but she chose not to comment on it. It was just how things were between them sometimes. Like they were constantly trying to find a new normal. "I'm just glad you cooked. And to have a home-cooked meal. It's been a while." She lowered her lashes as her hands reached out and gripped one of the barstools in her honesty.  _It was hard to contain when around James._

He walked by to grab one of the two plates he had set out.

"Fried rice is my favorite."

He paused his movements to make a mental note for himself. He glanced back over at her. "Sit."

James served her the food first before getting a plate of his own. He sat beside her and they ate in silence.

He heard the small noises of contentment she made whilst eating but chose not to comment on them and she pretended not to see the satisfied smile on him when she went for a second serving of rice, even though she had voiced how delicious the food was more than once.

"How did you learn to cook?" she finally asked him after having finished her second serving.

He shrugged. "Through trial and error mostly. I was kind of a lone wolf when I was younger. I had to depend on myself for the most part. If I didn't cook, I didn't eat."

She didn't offer up any words of pity or comfort, instead, she just took his words in and tried to connect the dots of all the little pieces of information she had managed to gather from and about him. It was like an outline that was slowly taking on a shape she knew had been familiar from the very beginning.

"I'll do the dishes," she said when she was already standing in front of the sink.

He watched her take a piece of broccoli from the pan and put it in her mouth before pushing up her sleeves and turning on the faucet. Like a wolf marking its prey or perhaps the role of predator was no longer his to play. "You don't strike me as a domestic type."

"I'm not really. But I've had some practice."

"With Guero?"

She nodded.

"Still, I can't picture it. You cooking and not getting into trouble…" he said it in an offhand kind of way to keep her talking.

"He would distract me before it could get too boring," Teresa remarked, referring to her memories as if they were now a permanent part of her past like they no longer hurt. In reality, they cut more deeply than she had braced herself for. "Now I look forward to normalcy," she lied to herself because she knew that some part of her enjoyed the unexpected twists and turns that her current life had thrown at her. "Like lounging around and eating fried rice."

She turned off the water, her shoulders caving in at the duplexity of it all. There was no winning.

James had somehow gotten up without making a single sound and she didn't think of him again until he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She lifted her own hand and placed it on top of his, accepting the comfort he was giving her.

"Look, I know things with Camila and I haven't been a cakewalk, you've gotten hurt in the process, lost people—"

"It's fine, James." She let out a heavy sigh so she could gather herself back up right after, granting herself just a few seconds to flounder amongst the more melancholic and dismal emotions. Or at least, that was the plan, to find her way back out, clawing her way up if need be. Part of her knew that having a lifeline would make it easier on her and most of her recognized that James was that lifeline for her at the moment. Even when she shouldn't need one. "Some things are just out of our control, my control," she reassured herself whilst simultaneously letting a confession slip out. "And meant to happen."

"Do you really believe that?" he asked after waiting a beat and considering her words.

"No," she whispered the word with a single shake of her head. "But at least I'm still here. Despite it all. Despite Camilla and despite… despite you." She abruptly shook off his hand, his touch making her words feel less sharp than they needed to be. She turned but didn't get any further than James' chest.

He kept her in place with his body, purposely boxing her in. "What's the matter with you? You've been especially despondent today. Tonight."

Teresa pressed herself back against the counter, leaning her body away from his in an attempt to keep her thoughts straight. But she felt his fingers as they slid up her arm and grasped her resolutely by her elbow. He didn't bring her in any closer. Still, her hand came up to his chest, a storm going on behind her eyes as she met his. The defiance in her was almost a tangible thing, though it wasn't hard for him to see past the protective front and into the knot of emotions she carried closer to her heart.

The intensity of his gaze lessened, his hold on her becoming less demanding as he momentarily dropped his guard as well. The man he could have been if he only had less tough of a childhood, made different choices, decided not to put on a mask in the first place. Unfortunately, it was, more often than not, the bad experiences that shaped a person, hardened them.

Her hand trailed upwards as her eyes drifted downwards, settling on the curve of his lips. She licked hers as she thought about her next action so James would be able to expect it and react accordingly. Whatever that might be.

In one fluid movement, she pushed herself up slightly, onto the tips of her toes, fingers pulling at his shirt. She touched her lips to his almost gingerly, letting James be the one to deepen the kiss. His tongue in her mouth was something she had fantasized about before, alone in her bed with the lights turned off when the house was completely silent.

His hand let go of her elbow so both of them were free to cup her face, tilting it upwards more to magnify the pressure and moment between them. They both continued holding their breath as they continued to keep their lips and bodies pressed together.  _One of his hands went for her curls just when she thought about whether she was bold enough to reach out for his._

But his fingers pulling at her curls was enough for the realization to hit. It was a weight that came crashing down on her suddenly, her brave action overshadowed by a rush of thoughts. Mostly of intimate moments with Guero, but also by less pleasant ones that had managed to root deep, the surreal feeling of being raped, the hopelessness of sleeping on a cot in a place she didn't know.

Her strong façade was crumbling and exposing her to him. To James.

He tasted the salt  _before_  she pushed him away.

She did so roughly, acting out. "Don't touch me," she whispered the words with a cracked voice, head and eyes low because she couldn't look at him. She needed to retreat, needed to be in her own space again.

James let go of her completely, lines sharp as they cut across his face.

She barely made it past him before a sob made an ugly and heart-wrenching sound as it escaped her lips. She hurried but didn't make it any further than the edge of the kitchen before she felt him once more. His hold was firm as he caught her wrist and tugged her back towards him. He caught her with his other hand, grasping her hip as he pulled her against him.

Another sob came out and her hands went to the hem of his shirt, finding something to hold on to. One of his hands found its way into her hair, holding her by the back of her head so he could keep her close. His chin rested on top of her head as he let her cry on him.

"I've never had this type of reaction to a kiss," he said after a while. He felt her pull back, but stopped her and intercepted the apology. "It's fine, Teresa. I'd rather you tell me what's wrong so I can do something about it." He gently tugged at her hair so she was forced to tilt her head upwards and look at him. "I'm good at fixing problems."

She held his gaze for a few seconds before answering. "What if I told you that I want to go back. To the life I had. To Guero." Her tone, as well as the look in her eyes, was expectant as if she was actually taking him up on his offer. As if she genuinely believed in the words both knew were empty of any real solutions and were just bravado, for both of their sakes.

"Guero is dead," James finally pointed out.

Teresa nodded, staying silent as she disentangled herself from him for the second time and signaled for him to do the same, reclaiming the space between them. "And even if he wasn't, Camila won't just let me leave." She shrugged her shoulders. "You won't let me leave, will you?"

"Teresa…"

She took another few steps backward. "Will you?"

James closed his eyes, lips pressed together tightly as if in pain. He heard her withdraw from him more and more, waiting until the very last second to speak again. Until he had to. "Stop. Whatever you're—"

"Or what?" she shot back, flinging the words at him almost violently.

His eyes flew open, hand already on his gun. He pulled it from his jean, raising and pointing it at her slowly as if he was putting up a fight.

Teresa held up her hands, her eyes stinging as they burned everywhere they looked. "I'm just going to my room."

And with a sad smile, her defiance and anger evaporated as she let her hands drop. "The truth is, James, you could do whatever you want to me and I'd just have to learn to live with it. Or you'll just kill me." Another nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, like the words hadn't been crafted to wound. More deeply than she would know. "So to answer your question, that's what's wrong."

James pressed his lips together, something he did rarely and only when faced with an impossible situation. Only when around her. He could only look away from her as he slid the gun back into his jeans. And when she was almost out of reach completely, he couldn't help but ask, "What about the kiss?"

"A distraction?" she questioned out loud. "Maybe it was just my emotions getting the better of me… Or, my favorite supposition, Stockholm Syndrome." She couldn't look at him as she spouted off the final sentence, but she made sure to run her hands down the zip-up hoodie she was wearing and call attention to it, to  _the fact that it was one of his_.

"Go to your room," he spat out, unable to contain his anger at her accusation and what she was characterizing their relationship as. It only agitated him even more when she did as he asked and closed the door almost soundlessly behind her.

Teresa heard James punch his fist against something solid and closed her eyes as she leaned her forehead against the closed door, his pain echoing her own. They were both acting out, only she had used the weak spot he had for her against him, having been ruthless with her words when she lashed out. The kiss was what she had really wanted, but it would have had permanent repercussions if she had done more than just indulge. It wasn't fair to her, to him. And now she had driven him down the same path, committing random acts of violence when he was always so mindful of her.

She had to stop thinking of him as a good man who was forced to do bad things. Maybe he was a bad man who lured her in with meaningful acts of kindness that were designed to keep her close…

Either way, she was trapped. It was a gilded cage but a cage nonetheless. And maybe he was in a cage of his own, partly of his own creation but hers as well.

The kiss had been a chance, a risk, a mistake.

A slip, on his part just as much as it had been on hers.

A now visible crack in his armor.

A way in.

Or a way out.

She heard his footsteps as they approached, something desperate about their pace.

Teresa locked the door right as James turned the knob.

"Teresa."

He said her name and she almost gave in, knees buckling.

"Open the door."

"No," she told him simply, even though she had to ball her fists to keep herself from unlocking the door and letting him in.

"If it was just me, you know I would," he admitted, "let you walk out of here."

She held her breath so she could hear his, tucking her nose into the fabric of his hoodie. It smelled of him, in an all-encompassing kind of way that had seeped its way all the way down to her bones.

Maybe that was why she had put it on in the first place, and maybe why he had left it out for her to find and wear.

So, it would smell of her when he put it on next.

Teresa heard the eruption of curse words and the thud of flesh hitting wood.

She had gotten under his skin.

Just like he had managed to get under hers.


End file.
